Role Reversal
by steenbeans
Summary: Super angsty and dark.  A little exploration into what happens when the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak.  Canon up to finale.  Some language, adult themes.  Logan's POV. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I got this idea three days ago and it wouldn't go away until I wrote it. As mentioned, this is super dark and angsty, quite a different tone from "Knowing the Difference". I'm blaming it on the solid week of rain.**

**I have a little fascination with gender roles in society, what's considered "normal" and "acceptable" for men and women. I think, as a society, we're pretty unforgiving towards people who step outside of social norms. Anyway. I thought it would be fun to see Logan and Veronica switch places, to a degree. It will be 3 chapters. Hope you enjoy. **

**P.S. Before anyone asks, yes, I'm still working on my other story. ;)**

Role Reversal

Chapter 1

Logan stands outside the bar, chewing on his fingernail absently as he glares at the people walking past him. He knows why they're looking at him. He's been standing here for over twenty minutes now, pacing back and forth. They probably think he's drunk. He doesn't give a shit. He pauses and leans against the brick wall of the bar, taking one deep breath after another. _Why am I being such a fucking pussy?_

He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces his cell phone, quickly scrolling through names until he gets to the one he's looking for. She answers after two rings.

"Did you do it yet?" she asks, without saying hello.

"No. I got… held up. I'm on my way now," he replies. It occurs to him that it's the first time that he's ever lied to her, and he gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. _It's starting already, and we haven't even begun. If I knew what was good for me, I'd turn my ass around and get back on a plane to New York… But I've never known what's good for me, have I?_

"Well just try and get it over with quickly, okay? I want you back home." She sounds nervous, but she's not trying to talk him out of it. _Well, not anymore. We already had that discussion, and she made her point crystal clear. She doesn't want me to be here. She doesn't understand why I came._ He appreciates that she's not bringing it up again.

"Okay," he agrees. He looks at his watch, noting that it's already 10pm. _Which means it's 1am there, and she's still up. She really is worried._ "It's getting pretty late. I'll call you in the morning and let you know what happened."

"Just call me tonight, okay? I don't care how late it is." She pauses then, and her voice gets softer. "I _do_ trust you, Logan."

He's not sure what to say to that, because he doesn't trust himself right now. Not one bit. It had been much easier to trust himself back when he was cuddled up next to her on the couch in their East Village loft; back when Neptune was just a vague memory in the vault he rarely opened. Logan sighs. "Okay. Love you."

"I love you too."

He hangs up the phone and takes another deep breath, steeling himself. He knows this won't be pretty. As soon as he pushes open the door to the bar, his senses are assaulted. The smell of alcohol ingrained into the wood floor, the walls, probably even the ceilings. The smell of many different colognes, mixing together. The sound of billiard balls smacking against each other as college guys try to impress their dates. The sound of muddy music on the jukebox and false laughter. The sight of young bodies pressed up against each other in dim lighting, accented with glowing greens and yellows from fluorescent signs. The sight of…her. _Oh god, there she is._ He isn't ready yet.

But it's her, he's sure of it. And worse, _she's_ one of those young bodies pressed up against someone else. Logan swallows, almost losing his nerve. All of his preparation was for shit, all of those deep breaths a big fucking waste of time. The moment he lays his eyes on _her_, he feels like he's taken one to the gut, then another across the jaw. This is worse, so much worse than he'd imagined.

Logan knows immediately that he has to get the fuck out of there. _I can't do this. I was a fool to even try. _He turns and walks away, making it all of three feet before he stops and looks back at her. He sweeps his eyes down her body from head to toe, drinking her in.

She's wearing a black tank top and a short denim skirt, and yes, there they are, those fucking black boots. Her outfit could have been plucked straight out of one of his high school fantasies, which she'd starred in regularly…even back when he was supposed to hate her. Her hair is down in loose, wild waves… But he can't see her face, because she's got her tongue down someone else's throat.

He wasn't expecting to have this reaction after all this time, but here it is. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Rage. It's not just the fact that she's making out with another guy, it's the _way_ she's doing it. With such reckless abandon, in the middle of the crowd, so indifferent to what people might think. He's only ever seen her act that way with _him_.

Logan feels like a petulant child, suddenly. I'm_ the only one who gets her that turned on._ And she _is_ turned on, that much is clear. Her eyes are closed and her head is thrown back. A slight smile plays on her lips, as some dude in a tight grey v-neck t-shirt sucks on her neck. She has one hand tangled in his dark brown hair, and the other is cupping his ass.

And then, Veronica opens her eyes. She stares at him as though she's known that he's been there the whole time. The only reaction she makes is to broaden her smile into a wide grin. _Three years apart, and that's all I get._ He hates that she already has the upper hand, and he wants so badly to turn and walk away. But she's pulling him in like the fucking tractor beam on the Death Star, and before he knows it he's standing a foot away from her. After a brutal moment or two, she finally untangles herself from her partner.

"Well, well, well. Look who's decided to grace us with his presence," she says. Veronica nods to the guy next to her, who's still completely focused on her and trying to continue where they left off. "Do you know who this is? It's Logan Echolls."

The guy turns his head and looks at him, utterly disinterested. "Oh yeah? Any relation to that movie star?"

"You got it," Veronica replies, before Logan can respond. "That was his _Daddy_." Her eyes are no longer glassy and unfocused. She's glaring at him, making it clear that yes, she knows how much he hates talking about his father with complete strangers. And that yes, she's doing this to hurt him. Logan is a little shocked that she still hates him so much, after all these years.

"Dude, that's fucked up," the guy says. "He killed that girl. She was hot. What was her name again?"

"Lilly," Logan replies quietly, never taking his eyes off Veronica. "Lilly Kane." He's searching for a reaction, a glimmer, something that proves that she's still inside of there somewhere. But she just stares calmly back at him, her eyes blank. There is no twitch in the muscles of her forehead, or her lips, or her brow, to betray her underlying grief. _Nothing._

Veronica turns to the dude in the grey shirt, who has gone back to kissing her neck. "I'm thirsty," she informs him. She nods her head at Logan. "You want anything?"

He studies her, wondering if she knows about him. Wondering if she's been keeping tabs. But he just shakes his head. "No thanks."

"What do you want, darlin?"

"Something wet," she replies with a sly smile. She turns her gaze to Logan. "And hard."

"Mmm," the guy says, kissing her on the lips.

Logan watches as she returns his kiss, biting his lower lip and running her hands up his back slowly. After about three seconds he has to look away. He tries to keep his expression blank. He's sure it doesn't matter to her anyway, sure that she isn't even looking at him; but old habits die hard.

The guy leaves, finally, and they are alone. Veronica turns back to him, brushing her hair back from her face. Her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are as flat as a shark. "So who was it?" she asks. "Wallace? Or Mac?"

"Wallace," he replies. There's no point in lying about it. Logan knows that Wallace isn't ashamed that he asked for his help. _Surprised, maybe, that I actually agreed. He should have known better. _

"Figures." She rolls her eyes and leans against a small high top table, her fingers trailing absently across its surface.

He wants to tell her that it's good to see her, but that would be a lie. It's not good to see her. It's painful, and he feels like all of his organs are being turned inside out. Her head is tilted now, studying him. She doesn't say anything, and they lapse into silence. Logan knows he's here to talk to her, not to stand there slack-jawed and staring. But he can't find the words. He sighs and runs a nervous hand through his hair.

"Veronica-" he begins.

"Save it. I know why you're here, and I don't want what you're selling."

"Wallace is worried about you. We all are," he tells her quietly.

"You _all_ are?" She laughs. "Good to know."

"Look, he just wanted me to come out here so I could-"

"I know what he wants. He's made it clear." She looks at him with something like disgust. "Get out of here, Logan."

Her little makeout buddy comes back then, four shot glasses in hand. Logan gets a whiff as he passes him by. _Whiskey._ He turns his head away from the scent and takes another deep breath, for all the fucking good it does. Veronica takes one of the shots out of the guys hand before he's even back to the table, and downs it quickly. She takes a second one and does the same. The guy laughs in appreciation, but Logan just stares at her. He tries, again, to keep his expression blank. But he knows the disappointment is clear on his face.

She looks up at him. "Is this what it felt like for you? All of those times I told you what a fuckup you were?" She laughs again, but there's no humor in it. "I was a real pain in the ass, huh? Karma's a bitch. Guess I had this coming to me."

He steps towards her, his body painfully aware of how close she is. He speaks to her earnestly. "You weren't a pain in the ass. You were worried about me. Just like I'm worried about-"

"Fuck off, Logan!" she yells suddenly, pushing him hard in the chest. "Get the fuck away from me!"

Logan stumbles backward into an empty barstool, steadying himself against the edge of a table. He looks up at her, stunned by her sudden mood change, stunned by her violence. She's never hit him before. _Never._ He glances around the bar, and he can see that she's attracted the attention of the bartender, who's nodding to one of the bouncers. _This isn't happening, not tonight._ He needs to step away and try again tomorrow.

Without a word, he walks away from her and out of the bar. He doesn't realize how hard his hands are shaking until he gets outside. Logan walks over to his car, stops, and looks back at the bar. And then he punches the side of his rental car, twice- three times, leaving a series of nasty dents. He gets in the car and drives away, blood trickling unchecked down his knuckles.

**Please review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you for your kind reviews. Onward to angstiness…**

Chapter 2

Logan pulls into the lot of the apartment complex and parks his car. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and brings up his last text, from Wallace. _Seafarer Apts, Unit 8A._ This time, he doesn't hesitate. He gets out of his car, slams the door, and starts looking for the right building. When he spots it, he crosses the lawn with purpose and knocks on her door.

Veronica answers it after a moment, wearing only a tank top and a pair of plain black underwear. She's squinting at him in the bright sunlight. The inside of her apartment is still dark, even though it's almost noon. It seems to take her a minute to recognize him. Eventually, she sighs heavily and holds the door open without a word.

He follows her inside, closing the door behind him. He lets his eyes adjust to the dark, taking in how bare the place is. _Wallace told me that she's been here for months, but that can't be right._ There are no pictures on the walls, no plants or artwork dressing up the corners. There are no curtains on the windows, just cheap plastic blinds. There is absolutely nothing of Veronica in this place.

She's sitting on the couch, watching him as he looks around. She reaches towards the lamp on the end table, and suddenly she's bathed in warm yellow light. Her blue eyes are framed with last night's makeup, dark and smudged. Her cheeks are hollow, angles severe; the purple shadows below her eyes the only hint of color on her face. Veronica's hair is a tangled blonde mess. _God damn does she look hot…_

He looks away for a moment, determined not to show her what she still does to him. Especially because it's clear that his presence isn't doing a damn thing for her. He'd come here today expecting to get yelled at, maybe even to get pushed again… he'd prepared himself for either possibility.

What Logan _hadn't_ expected, what's gnawing at his confidence right now, is the way she's being so… dismissive, towards him. _She truly doesn't give a shit that I'm here. _He sits down on a chair, directly across from the couch; when it seems safe, he glances back up at her. He realizes that he doesn't see _her_ in there anymore. _There's no spark, no life in her eyes. It's just…empty. _He feels a little queasy, and blames it on his empty stomach.

Veronica is watching him back, a smile on her lips. "You're just as pesky as I used to be," she says. She leans towards the coffee table and opens a drawer. She pulls out an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes, and lights up.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asks.

"Since two years ago," she exhales. "Of course, you wouldn't know that."

She twists her body away from him and stretches her legs out, leaning her back against the arm of the couch. The movement causes her tank top to ride up, exposing her bare stomach and her left hip. From this position, her underwear are stretched tight, leaving a tantalizing amount of smooth skin on display.

Logan is looking at her, again, taking it all in. And he realizes he hasn't changed or grown one fucking bit, because he's still just as aroused by her as ever. He feels the blood gushing through his veins, the nerve endings in his skin almost painfully alert and God does he want to take her in his arms, rip off that skimpy little tank top, run his tongue over those pert little- _No. Get control of yourself. Remember Elizabeth?_

But Veronica, holy shit does the expression on her face right now remind him of Lilly. So smug in her knowledge of just what she could do to him… just what she _would_ do to him, the second he broke down. Because he'd always broken down. _Always._ It didn't matter how seething mad he was at Lilly, he just couldn't say no to her.

To see Veronica looking at him with that same confidence in her own power, finally aware that she has the ability to use her body like a weapon… Logan tries desperately to recall the hesitant, fumbling Veronica of yore, the one whose hand trembled slightly as she pulled the zipper of his jeans down for the first time…

The memory won't come. Maybe because she's looking down at the zipper of his jeans pointedly at this very moment, and he's painfully aware of what she sees. She taps the ash off her cigarette and looks into his eyes. "It must be really… _hard_ for guys, huh? The fact that you can't hide it?"

Despite her suggestive words, her tone is cool. Logan doesn't say anything; he doesn't know what to say. He's furious with himself. He came here today after last night's dismal failure, determined to speak his mind. Determined not to be led off course by this…adolescent craving. But he's thrown by how strong his attraction for her still is. It's completely inappropriate, under the circumstances. And it's undermining everything that he's worked so hard for these last couple of years.

Veronica takes one last inhale, then leans across the table and grinds out her cigarette in the ashtray. She sighs, exhaling a thin line of smoke. "Well, get it over with. Let's hear your speech."

Logan stares at her blankly for a moment. He's completely lost track of what he was going to say. He clears his throat. "Wallace called me, a few days ago. He thought, maybe, I could come out here and talk to you. Tell you what I've been up to for the last couple of years. He thought it might help."

Veronica leans back onto the couch and crosses her arms over her chest. "And do _you_ think it'll help?"

He offers her a smile. "I hope so."

She isn't smiling back, but she isn't making a snarky retort either. Logan scoots forward in his chair, starting to feel hopeful for the first time. But there's movement in his peripheral vision, and he looks up. A shirtless guy with rumpled blond hair is walking over to them, scratching the stubble on his cheek. He nods at Logan. "Hey, man."

Logan feels that familiar jolt of jealousy surging through him again. _This isn't even the same fucking guy from last night._ He sets his jaw and nods back at the guy. "Hey."

The guy approaches Veronica, and Logan sees that his back is covered in red scratches; four parallel lines, drawn over and over… some short, some long, some criss-crossing into diamonds. Logan doesn't want to think about just how those marks got there, but the images are already rolling unchecked through his mind. He watches the guy bend his head down and kiss Veronica on the lips, letting his hand run slowly down her side.

Logan looks down at the floor, thinking suddenly of that morning when Veronica came to his door, blue eyes hopeful and clear… and Kendall slithered up next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist. He remembers feeling alternately nauseous, because of the broken look in Veronica's eyes, and amazed… that something _he'd_ said had brought her to his door.

After Veronica had left, he'd told Kendall to get the fuck out, so he could stew in his own self-disgust. He wondered how in the hell, in his drunken stupor of the previous night, he'd managed to utter the magic combination of words that had brought Veronica to his door. He'd lain in bed for hours, searching his mind desperately for the memory. But it was gone. Scene erased. Like film that's been exposed to light, the images had vanished forever.

"Logan," Veronica says now, bringing him back to the present. "This is Greg."

The blond guy rolls his eyes. "It's Billy, actually."

"Logan here was just checking out my ass," she informs him.

"And what a fine ass it is," Billy says, smacking it lightly.

Logan wants to punch him in the mouth. He hates this guy, suddenly. And he hates that fucking guy from last night, and he hates all of the men who've gotten to touch her for the last three years. He's about to tell the guy to beat it when Veronica takes care of that for him.

"Hit the road, Jack," she says.

"I told you, it's Billy," he reminds her patiently.

She rolls her eyes, looking to Logan for support. "It's an expression. You know?" She sighs. "Never mind."

"She's telling you it's time for you to go," Logan says, the warning clear in his voice.

Billy looks like he's about to make a smartass comment, but something in Logan's expression seems to stop him. "Take it easy, bro. I'm on my way out."

He laughs easily and plucks something off the top of the chair Logan's sitting in. It's his t-shirt, and it occurs to Logan that they probably fucked in this very chair last night. He feels nauseous again. Billy glances at Veronica. "That was fun. Call me when you wanna do it again."

She ignores him, and he leaves. As soon as the door shuts, she stands up and walks over to the kitchen. Logan follows her, stopping on the other side of the island. He watches her drop a few ice cubes into a pint glass and fill it a third of the way with vodka. She tops it off with some orange juice, stirs it with her index finger and takes a drink. Veronica sets the drink down on the kitchen island and glances at him. "Want one?"

"What do you think?" he asks sarcastically.

"I think the Logan that _I_ knew would have helped me finish the bottle." She takes another long sip.

"Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore," he says casually.

She laughs. "I heard a rumor about that. I didn't think it was actually true."

Logan smiles ruefully and takes a coin out of his pocket. He slides it across the counter towards her. "I've got 18 months."

"Ah, I see. Impressive." Veronica glances disinterestedly at the coin and slides it back to Logan. She shakes her glass lightly, unsticking the ice cubes, and takes another sip. "So did you come here to spout AA rhetoric at me? Let me guess: I should take it…one day at a time, right? Accept the things I cannot change? It'll work if I work it?"

He realizes she must have spent at least some time in meetings to know the jargon so well. "All good advice," he shrugs. "Worked for me, anyway."

Veronica laughs again. "To each their own, I guess." When he doesn't respond, she sets her drink down and shakes her head at him. "God, Logan. When did you turn into such a fucking boy scout?" She takes two steps closer to him, and her voice becomes light and teasing. "Logan Echolls, paragon of virtue…" She touches his hand, trailing her fingertips lightly up his arm. And then she pouts at him, actually fucking pouts. "You used to be fun."

Logan goes completely still. It's the first time he's had physical contact with her in over three years, aside from the rough shove against his chest last night. Her hand is soft and warm as it travels slowly up his arm, the pressure just hard enough not to tickle. And when he looks into her eyes, he can see _her_, suddenly. It's just a shadow, but it's there. It's Veronica, trying to provoke him- just like she used to. _But her tactics have certainly fucking changed._

He closes his eyes, focusing completely on her light touch for a few beautiful seconds. And then he takes a very deep breath. And as he exhales, he slowly pulls his arm away from her. He doesn't get to see her reaction when he opens his eyes, because she's already walking away. Veronica pauses at the counter to finish her drink, and begins to make herself another one. Logan uses the time to try and gather his shredded composure, to stitch up his wounded willpower.

When she does finally turn back to him, the expression in her eyes is strikingly familiar. This time, he sees not Lilly, but his mother. And it scares the shit out of him. Everything about the way she's looking at him says that she's done trying, done caring. _Game over._ Logan remembers that false smile that never reached his mom's eyes, the way she didn't really listen anymore when he tried to talk to her about his day. The crying, shouting mother of his early childhood had been bad; but the blank, empty mother of his teenage years had been so much worse.

In a matter of seconds, Logan shifts from _wanting_ Veronica to wanting to _protect_ Veronica. Wanting to help her, wanting to save her. He knows himself well enough, after months and months of soul searching, to recognize exactly what it is about her that's drawing him in. It's her desperation, her hopelessness, the fact that she's so fucking damaged. She needs him- well, she needs _somebody_, anyway, and he wants it to be him. He wants very much to be the one to swoop in and make everything okay again. Especially because she _never_ needed him before. _Not the way that I needed her._

Logan knows that this is getting very, very dangerous. He understands, suddenly, that his feelings for her haven't changed one bit. He's eighteen years old again, and there's nothing that he won't do for her. A small part of him, that awful self-destructive part, wishes he can rewind back to a few minutes earlier and make different decisions. _When she asked me to have a drink with her, I should have just fucking done it. And when she touched me, I should have pulled her into my arms and kissed her until she fell in love with me again._

And the universe has a sick sense of humor, because just as he's thinking this, his phone rings. He doesn't need to look down to see that it's Elizabeth calling, but he does anyway. He realizes that he forgot to call her last night, and it didn't even occur to him to call her this morning. He studies the picture of her smiling face on his phone, trying to recall her bubbly laughter and the scent of her hair. But it's gone. _Scene erased._

"Let me guess," Veronica says, breaking the long silence. "Your girlfriend?"

"My fiancée," Logan corrects her quietly, looking up. He studies her face; but again, there's no reaction. No flash of jealousy, or surprise. He's a little heartbroken by that. _Yes, I've moved on. But it was because I _had _to, doesn't she realize that? If I hadn't, I'd be exactly where she is right now. In some empty fucking apartment, or hotel, or condo. Trying to drink and fuck all of my problems away._

After the rollercoaster of freshman year, Logan had decided that it was time to get the hell out of dodge. He'd moved to New York without a word to anyone, not bothering to continue with college. The change of scenery had worked, for a time. He'd crashed with John Enbom for a few weeks, and then he'd found his own place. He made some new friends, kept busy, tried to figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life. But after just a couple of months, he could feel the emptiness creeping back in. He still checked his phone and his e-mail every day, just to see if she'd tried to get in touch. She never did. He let the darkness close in around him.

A bad car accident on a rainy night in Philly, one of those accidents where an inch to the right or to the left and he would have been dead, was what had finally snapped him out of it. Two kinds of rehab had followed, one for his body and one for his mind. Neither experience had been fun, but they had both been necessary.

When all was said and done, Logan had realized that he wanted more from his life. And in order for him to break bad habits, he needed to stop obsessing over Veronica Mars. It was easier said than done. But eventually he met Elizabeth, and it got a little bit easier. She'd helped him pick up the tattered shreds of his life and put them back together.

Logan looks at Veronica, and he's suddenly infuriated. At her, yes, but even more at himself. _Why the hell did I just ignore Elizabeth's call? What am I even _doing_ here? She doesn't want me here. I know better than anyone that no one can make you change. Nothing that_ I_ say is going to make one fucking bit of difference. I spent all of this time _not_ thinking about her, _not_ talking to her, accepting the fact that she _isn't_ part of my life. And now here I am, getting sucked back in._

"What the hell are you doing, Veronica?" he demands. "What are you trying to prove?"

"Do I look like I'm trying to prove anything?" she asks in bored tones.

Logan feels like she's goading him, purposely trying to make him angry. He knows the only solid ground he had, staying calm and stoic, is slipping away beneath his feet. He feels himself rising to her challenge. "You once told me I was a cliché. Do you remember? 'Poor little rich boy with a death wish'? Well look at yourself, Veronica."

He sees a flash of anger in her eye, but she keeps her voice calm. "So, what, did you come here to rescue me? Prince Logan, my knight in shining armor?"

As usual, she sees right through him, knows exactly what his endgame is. He struggles to keep his voice steady. "I think my armor is a little tarnished, these days."

The skeleton of a smile plays on her lips, and then her eyes darken. "You don't get to play the hero this time, Logan. You're a little late for that. About two years too late." Veronica walks to the refrigerator, empty glass in hand, then turns and paces back to the island. "And you know what? You don't know a _damn_ thing about who I am or what I've been up to."

"I think I have a pretty good idea what you've been up to," he says, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You don't know a fucking _thing_!" she returns. "Who the hell are you to come here, acting all concerned? _You don't know me anymore_. _You're not a part of my life anymore._ You're a stranger to me."

Her words burn, and he swallows hard. "A stranger?" he says lightly. "I've known you since I was twelve. Maybe we haven't seen each other for a while-"

"I haven't seen you for _three years_!" she corrects him. "And you just show up one day on my doorstep like you're gonna come here and _fix_ me? Fuck you!"

"You act like I never tried-"

"You didn't even care enough to show up at his funeral!" Veronica screams. She throws her drink against the wall, and it shatters. Ice cubes and shards of glass fly across the kitchen, but neither one of them notices.

Logan stares at her, his chest tight. "Veronica, I tried. You don't know how _fucking_ hard I tried." He steps closer to her, but he sees her whole body tense. He stops in his tracks and continues talking. "I left you a hundred messages, sent you a hundred e-mails, trying to explain what happened. But you never called me or wrote me back. I came out here as soon as I could, and you were gone already. No one knew where you were. I stayed here for-"

She's shaking her head, her eyes hard. He's not even sure she's listening to him. "You made your choice. You left. You left, and you never came back."

"I'm trying to tell you, I _did_ come back. I waited-"

"Too fucking little, _way_ too fucking late," she interrupts him.

Logan shakes his head. She's talking about him coming back _now_, not the first time. She's not listening to him. He takes two more steps towards her, and her head snaps up.

"I don't want you in my life, Logan," she informs him, voice hard. "Not anymore."

He stops walking again. He feels like he can't breathe. _No. I don't accept that. _Logan starts towards her and she steps backwards. He sees her grimace and lift her foot up. She's stepped on one of the glass shards with her bare foot, and there's blood trickling onto the tile floor. Veronica pulls the glass out and tosses it into the sink. Logan steps forward again, to see if he can help her. But she side steps him, wincing a little as she puts weight on her bloody foot.

"_No," _she says vehemently. She sounds exhausted again, the fight out of her. "Just… just go."

Logan takes a deep breath and exhales heavily, looking down at her foot. The cut is deep; blood is flowing out of the wound in a steady stream. "I just want to help you," he sighs.

"_I don't want your help._ How many times do I have to say it?" she looks at him with defeated eyes. "Just go away. Leave me alone." Veronica looks down at the ground. "I just want everyone to leave me alone."

He clenches his fists in frustration. He's out of options. _She won't talk to me, she won't listen to me, she's made it clear that she doesn't want me here. What the hell do I do? Try coming back again tomorrow? Admit defeat and go back to New York?_

Logan looks at her standing there, her arms wrapped protectively around herself and her eyes downcast. He's overwhelmed with the desire to hold her in his arms, kiss her forehead, make everything better. _But she won't even let me come near her. She certainly won't let me touch her_.

"You need to hold something on that, tightly," he says quietly. "To stop the bleeding." He stares at her, searching for a reaction. Looking for some acknowledgment that he really is standing there, talking to her. _Nothing. _"Goodbye, Veronica."

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't even look up.

Logan turns away stiffly and walks out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Logan is halfway back to his hotel when he makes a hard right into a diner parking lot and turns around. He's going way too fast and his tires squeal in protest. A pair of old ladies walking out of the diner wag their fingers at him angrily. He ignores them and pulls back out onto the road.

_What the fuck am I doing? Seriously, what the _fuck_ am I doing?_ He can't answer his own question, but he can't seem to turn his car around either. He has no idea what's compelling him to go back to her, aside from the fact that he can't get the vision of Veronica's haunted eyes out of his mind. And although it's fitting, he can't accept that the last words he'll ever say to her are "Goodbye, Veronica". In a perfect world, his last words to her will be "Goodnight, Veronica", and he'll be holding her in his arms as he passes from this mortal plane.

And no, this isn't a perfect world, he's well aware of that. This is a world where fathers kill, mothers abandon, friends rape and children get hit. But they'd faced it together, once upon a time, found something quiet and beautiful within the chaos. Logan has tried, many times, to recreate with others that idyllic peace that he'd felt with her; but it's never been quite right. Even the relationships that have come the closest have been nothing more than a pale mockery of what he and Veronica had once shared. _But I can't think about that right now…_

He has no idea what he'll say when he arrives at her door, but he feels an inexplicable need to get there as soon as possible. He speeds recklessly down the highway, trying not to think about what happened the last time he drove like this. Logan still tells everyone that it was an accident, and sometimes he even convinces himself. But he knows what he secretly hoped would happen when he got in the car that day. He's ashamed, now, that he had so little will to live. And he's grateful every day that he didn't kill someone else in the process.

In his defense, that was the day he'd finally given up. The day he'd left Neptune after waiting for her for thirty-seven days. When he'd arrived at the airport, he'd been so scared of losing his nerve that he'd bought a ticket for the first flight back east. It hadn't mattered that it landed in Philadelphia instead of New York. He'd just needed to get the fuck out of there, as far away from that sunny void as he could.

When he landed, he'd picked up the keys to a rental car, deciding to drive the rest of the way. Just so he'd be _doing _something, anything, to distract him from thoughts of her. But he'd found himself circling back to the airport, walking back inside, looking up at the departure boards for the next flight back to California. He'd wound up at an airport bar, drinking shot after shot of whiskey, losing count somewhere around twelve. And then he'd stumbled back to his car in a desperate attempt to avoid temptation.

Because she was out there, somewhere, and she needed him. Of that he'd been certain. Keith Mars had died of a heart attack, forty-one days earlier, leaving everyone in utter shock. Veronica's text message to him had been exactly three words. _Please come home._

Logan still has it saved on his phone. He looks at it every time he needs assurance that she did need him, once. And sometimes, he looks at it to remind himself that he tried. _I tried. It sounds so dismissive: Oh well, I tried._ It doesn't speak to the reality of what he'd done to try and get back to her.

He considers the lengths he's willing to travel for her as he pulls back into the parking lot of the Seafarer Apartments. His devotion to her is unhealthy, he's known this for years. Logan's pretty sure everyone knows this, and he's pretty sure everyone pities him for it. He wonders sometimes if it's really love for _her_ that's made him chase after her for all of these years, or if it's just love for the _idea_ of her. But then he conjures her devious little smile, her fiery temper, the smell and taste of her skin… and he knows the answer to that question.

Logan thinks about Elizabeth, as he crosses the lawn towards Veronica's apartment for the second time that day. She's the type of girl he'd always secretly pictured himself being with. Blonde and thin, yes- he knows he has a type. But also gentle, nurturing, sensitive. She buys him thoughtful gifts on holidays and looks at him with concern when they go out to parties where people are drinking. She never protests when he throws a protective arm around her, as they walk down city streets at night. She never fights him for the remote.

Life with her has been easy, painless. A little boring, sure. _But haven't I had enough drama to last me for a lifetime?_

Logan is back at Unit 8A, and he doesn't bother knocking gently on the door. He pounds on it with his fist. His knuckles are scabbed from punching his car last night, and one cracks open and starts to bleed. He ignores it and keeps pounding on the door. "Veronica, I'm not leaving like this. Okay? We're not leaving things like this." He pauses for a beat, glancing around to make sure he isn't attracting any unwanted attention. "Veronica? You have to talk to me." He thumps his fist against the door. "Just…fucking… _talk_ to me."

There's no response. He sighs heavily and tries the doorknob. To his surprise, it turns beneath his hand. Logan hesitates for just a second, and then opens the door all the way. He walks into her apartment, once again letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

She's lying down on the couch now on her back, her left arm hanging listlessly away from her body and her head turned slightly to the right. She shakes her head faintly as he walks into the room and mutters something barely coherent. It sounds like "No, Logan", but it could just as easily be "Go, Logan". Veronica twists her body so that her back is to him.

He wonders how many more drinks she's had since he left. By the looks of it, quite a few. Part of him is relieved that she's in no state to kick him out right now. _Maybe what I say now will actually sink in, like hypnotic suggestion._ She's a captive audience, and for once in her damn life, she's going to listen to what he has to say.

Logan speaks quickly, pacing back and forth. "Veronica, I _tried_ to get to your father's funeral. I tried in every possible way. There was a fucking _blizzard_, okay? Three feet of fucking snow. Flights were grounded _everywhere_. Laguardia, JFK, Newark… I tried to get a private flight, I offered people _obscene_ amounts of money. I tried to get someone to take me to another airport. But it didn't matter, because everywhere on the east coast was _fucked_. Do you understand that?"

He glances at her. But she's being childish, not reacting, and he shakes his head in anger. "You can ignore me all you want. God knows you ignored all of my calls. I mean Jesus, I can't control the fucking weather, okay? I even tried to rent a car and drive out here, but the streets were a total mess, I couldn't get-"

Logan stops his pacing abruptly and looks at her. Veronica is the queen of concealing her emotions, but he's rapidly becoming aware of the fact that she hasn't even twitched. His heart starts to pound and he swallows hard, staring at her for any sign of movement. But she's very, very still. Suddenly, he's eight years old again, looking at a different woman on a different couch. There is yelling, and two men in uniforms are rushing towards her.

"_It was an accident, baby. Just an accident."_

And now he's rushing towards Veronica, crashing into the coffee table and knocking over an ashtray. His eyes take in the transparent orange pill bottle on the floor, as he leans down and places both hands on her chest to see if she's breathing. She is, but it's slow and shallow, and god is she fucking pale. He pulls her up into a seated position and shakes her violently. "No, no, no, no, no, oh god Veronica, fuck baby what are you doing, what did you do?" He wraps his arms around her tightly, sobbing and screaming. "_What did you do?"_

She stirs, then, muttering something with her eyes still closed. But he can't understand what she's trying to say, and he doesn't have the time to decipher it. Logan tries to push through the panic, tries to force some rational thought into his brain. He reaches into his pocket with a shaking hand and barely manages to punch in three numbers.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Logan chokes out the address and a jumbled explanation of why they need to get there as soon as fucking possible. And then he feels the adrenaline start to course through him, demanding that he _do_ something, immediately. He can hear the woman on the phone telling him to stay on the line, but he tosses the phone to the floor and lifts Veronica up off the couch. She's so light that his muscles barely strain as he carries her out of the living room, searching for the bathroom.

He finds it and sets her down in the shower, because isn't that what people always do in the fucking movies? He turns the water on full force and cradles her in his arms. The spray is cold and hard as it hits them both. For a terrifying moment he can only watch uselessly as the water soaks through her clothing, dripping down her hair, down her face. Logan rocks her back and forth in his arms, repeating the same phrase over and over. "Please don't do this to me, please don't do this to me…"

But then she coughs, once, and it gives him the courage to hope. She's still alive, and semi-conscious. He turns her around and brushes her wet hair from her face. "Veronica? Stay with me. You have to make yourself sick." She opens her eyes but doesn't seem to really see him. Desperate, Logan puts his own finger down her throat, and she gags and convulses beneath him. He turns her quickly so she's face down and does it again. This time, it works.

He has no idea if this is the right thing to do. And he knows he's a fucking idiot for throwing his phone on the ground, instead of listening to the person who could have _told_ him the right thing to do. But after Veronica stops vomiting up orange liquid and little white pills, she seems slightly more coherent. Her eyes are unfocused and they keep opening and closing, but she's mumbling something to him. Logan leans down to hear what she's saying.

"You…left," she whispers. "You left me."

He pulls her back into his arms, protecting her face from the water still raining down on them. "No," he corrects her, holding her body tightly to his and burying his head into her neck. "I never left. Not really."

**xxXxx**

Logan stares at the same piece of cracked linoleum tile on the floor for fifteen minutes, fifteen hours- he has no idea how long, time is meaningless. He's spent way too much time in hospitals over the years, and he hates every single thing about them. He hates how irreverently the nurses laugh with each other, while the people around them are sick and dying; he hates how glossy the fucking floors are, how fluorescent the fucking lights are. And most of all, he hates the smell.

Things are quiet now, after a cyclone of motion and activity. Paramedics, police, an ambulance ride. Logan got reprimanded for not staying on the line with the dispatcher. He also took shit for putting her in the shower. They tell him it's _not_ the right thing to do, after all, as Veronica could have gone into shock. One of the nurses actually rolled her eyes at Logan as he stepped out of the ambulance, soaking wet. She looked at the paramedics with a knowing smile. "They do it every _single_ time."

She's the same nurse who is forcing him to stay in the E.R. waiting room while Veronica is treated. Logan had protested vehemently, of course. He'd even told her that Veronica was his fiancée, in hopes that she'd let him stay with her; but the nurse was insistent. He'd paced for a bit, then finally sat down and started staring at the floor. Right now, he's thinking about how he was yelling at her while she was dying on her couch. He's thinking that if she doesn't make it, he'll never forgive himself for that.

Logan stands up, needing to move again. He walks towards the reception area, where that same bitch nurse from earlier is chatting with a paramedic. "Excuse me?" he says quietly.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to go see her now."

"I'm sorry, sir," she says dismissively. "That's not possible. Please have a seat in the waiting room." She turns away from him, going back to her conversation.

Logan pulls his wallet from his back pocket and takes out his license. He looks down at her name tag. "Excuse me?" he says again. "Anne?"

She turns in her chair and sighs heavily. "Sir-"

He holds his license up so she can see it through the plate glass window. "Do you recognize this name?" Logan can tell by her expression that she does, and he continues. "I will donate a fucking _wing_ to this hospital. Okay? But if you don't let me in there within the next five seconds, I'm going to break every single fucking thing in this room."

She buzzes him in without another word.

Veronica is asleep when he opens up the curtain and peeks his head in. He steps inside and closes the curtain silently behind him. Logan walks over to her bed and stares at her for a very long time, watching her chest rise and fall gently. He doesn't want to wake her, but he feels an overwhelming urge to touch her, to make sure she's really okay. He pulls her blanket up, covering her more completely, and then takes her hand in his. It's warm, now.

Still holding onto her hand, he takes a seat and lays his head gently on her stomach. He sits that way with her for minutes, hours, again he has no idea. He knows he should call Wallace and Mac, let them know what happened. But he can't seem to move. The sound of soft footsteps and someone clearing their throat finally brings him back to the present. He lifts his head up and turns around. There's an older woman with curly black hair in the room with them now. She's looking at Logan with a kind smile.

"Hi," she says quietly. "My name is Marilyn. I'm the social worker who's been assigned to this case. Do you mind if I speak with you for a moment?"

Logan stands up. They step outside of the room and walk into the hallway.

"Are you the fiancée?" she asks.

"Uh, no," he admits. "I just said that so they'd let me in."

"So you're her boyfriend?"

"No. We're…" He pauses, pretty sure the word for what they are to each other hasn't been invented yet. "We're friends."

She smiles again and nods, and then proceeds to ask him a bunch of questions. She wants to know what happened, why he was there, if Veronica's ever done anything like this before. He answers the best he can, and then he asks her the question on his mind. "What happens next?"

Marilyn looks down at her notes, briefly, and then back up at him. Her eyes are very serious. "I'd like to speak with Veronica, before I answer that question. But from what you've said, she sounds like a very troubled young woman. If this was indeed a suicide attempt, it's hospital procedure to admit her into the psychiatric ward for evaluation for a period of 72 hours."

He exhales deeply, knowing how much she'll absolutely hate that. Marilyn surprises him by catching his hand in hers. "Try not to look at this as punishment. This could be exactly what she needs."

Logan looks at her for a moment, then nods. "Yeah. Maybe."

They re-enter the room; when she sees that Veronica is still sleeping, she tells Logan that she'll come back in a little while. He walks over to the bed and stares down at her again. The top layers of her hair have dried into light blonde streaks, but the rest is still draped over her shoulders in dark, wet strands. Logan's own short hair has long since dried, but he realizes for the first time how damp and heavy his jeans are.

He watches her, again, for a long while. Her black lashes twitch and her mouth opens and closes silently as she sleeps. He doesn't want to leave her, but there's something that he has to do. Logan walks out of the room and down the hall, wishing there was a dark little corner that he could use for his purposes. But it's all bright, white and sterile. So he sits down in a plastic orange chair and makes a phone call.

She answers after one ring, this time, her voice a mixture of anger and relief. "It's about time. I was about to call the cops."

"There are no cops here, just a sheriff's department," he informs her mechanically.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yeah," Logan breathes. "It's bad." He plays with the plastic end of his shoelace and clears his throat. "I'm in the hospital with her now. And…I'm not leaving."

"Oh, god, is she okay?" Elizabeth asks, sounding genuinely concerned. She continues, not waiting for his response. "Well obviously, you should stay and make sure she's okay. Get her settled in a good rehab. Do you want me to start calling around?"

Logan stares out the window. He can see the Neptune Grand from here, and he wonders briefly why he didn't book a room there for his stay. _Maybe because it's too much like home, and I wasn't planning on being here for long. _He looks at the roof of the Grand, thinking about Cassidy, thinking about Veronica… thinking about how utterly broken she was that night, when she'd thought that her dad had been killed.

"Elizabeth," he says gently. "I meant… I'm not _leaving_. Not ever. I'm so sorry."

**xxXxx**

Logan is still shaken from his conversation with Elizabeth when he walks back into Veronica's room. He wishes that she would have yelled instead of cried; that would have been so much easier. But she just kept repeating the same words. "But I don't understand… I just don't understand." And, of course, he'd had no explanation that would have made the slightest bit of sense to her. So he'd just kept telling her, over and over, how sorry he was.

He glances at the hospital bed and is surprised to find Veronica awake. She isn't moving, but her eyes follow him as he walks towards her and takes a seat. He scoots his chair in closer to her and takes her hand without asking. She doesn't pull away, but she's watching him warily. He speaks first.

"How do you feel?"

She offers him a weak smile. "I've been better," she replies, her voice raspy. She glances up at the ceiling for a moment and then looks back over at him. "I didn't know you were still here."

Logan sighs. "Veronica, do you remember what you said to me before?"

"No."

"You told me that I left," he reminds her.

Her eyes darken. "You did leave." She tries to pull her hand away then, but her attempt is feeble and Logan easily holds on.

"_No_," he tells her forcefully.

Veronica stops resisting, but turns her head away from him. He can barely hear what she's saying. "You weren't supposed to save me, this time. You should have stayed away… I wish you would have just let me… go away."

"Is that what you wish, Veronica?" he asks, raising his voice. "You'd rather be _dead_?"

She doesn't answer right away, but he waits. "Sometimes," she finally admits, in a whisper. "I'm so tired of being alone."

Logan shakes his head angrily. "You're not fucking alone, okay? What about Mac, Wallace… me?"

Veronica glances at him with an expression that he would swear is hopeful, for a moment. And then she looks away from him again. Logan stands up, so frustrated that he wants to put his fist through the wall. But he hears sobbing, then, and his attention is riveted back to her. She's shaking her head as tears run down her face. "Not you," she says. "You're engaged."

Logan almost wants to laugh, as inappropriate as _that _would fucking be. He sits back down in the chair and grabs her hand again, hard. "No, I'm not," he tells her. "Not anymore."

She stares at him in disbelief. "No. You can't do that, Logan. I won't let you do that."

"Well it's a little too late, okay?" he says, trying to keep his voice light. Logan turns her face gently so that she's facing him fully. "I already told her that I'm not leaving your side." He squeezes her hand, needing reassurance that this is what she wants, too. But she starts crying in earnest, then, bringing up every single fear of his that she _still_ doesn't want anything to do with him. Even now.

Veronica shakes her head rapidly as the tears fall down her cheeks. "No. I'm too screwed up. You're doing so well…" She wipes her hand across her face roughly, her body shuddering with her sobs. "I'll ruin that. I'll ruin _you_."

"No," he says calmly. "You won't." He brushes his fingers across her cheek softly, then runs his thumb along her jaw line. "Just let me take care of you, for once. Okay?"

She looks up at him, her blue eyes glassy and red-rimmed, and he's never seen her look so vulnerable. She places her hand on his forearm and squeezes it lightly. "Okay," she whispers.

Relief washes over him. Impulsively, he climbs into the hospital bed with her, careful not to disturb her I.V. line. He lies on his side and wraps his arm around her. She buries her face in his chest and he pulls her even closer. They lay like that for a long time. The nurse comes in at one point, and opens her mouth to protest, but Logan shuts her up with a venomous look. She leaves again without a word.

Veronica lifts her head up and looks into his eyes. "I missed you so much."

He sighs and shakes his head at her. "Well why didn't you ever call me?"

She smiles at him then, and it's the first time in two days that he recognizes that old spark in her eyes. "Because I'm not supposed to need anyone. Remember?"

He kisses her forehead and smoothes her hair back. "So are you saying that you…_needed_ me?" he teases. Logan kisses her cheek, then the tip of her nose. "Admit it, Mars, and maybe I'll forgive you."

She looks at him for a few seconds, then tentatively reaches out her hand and runs her fingers down his cheek. "Yes," she whispers. "I needed you. I've always needed you." Veronica pulls his head down to hers and kisses him lightly on the lips.

"Well then I forgive you," he says quietly, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks. "And I swear I'll never leave you again. If you still want me."

"I still want you," she breathes. She pulls back slightly and looks into his eyes, as tears start to stream down her face again. "I love you Logan. So much that I…" Veronica doesn't finish her sentence, just pulls him closer to her and squeezes him tightly.

Logan rubs his hand across her back in gentle circles, smiling into her shoulder. He's astounded that he can somehow feel so happy and complete, considering where they are right now, the horrific events of the day. But he finally feels it again, that beautiful calm that he's spent so many years chasing. "Just let me love you," he whispers. "That's all I've ever really wanted."

**Thanks for reading :) Please review.**


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